


Space. Imagine that

by commanderlurker (honeybee592)



Category: Dragon Age II, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Crossover, Cunnilingus, Enthusiastic cunnilingus, F/M, One Night Stands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-07-13 21:51:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7138784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeybee592/pseuds/commanderlurker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isabela is keen to find out more about the new guy who fell from space.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Space. Imagine that

Isabela immediately spots him at a table, sitting alone nursing a half empty mug of Corff’s finest. He matches Varric’s description perfectly. The guy sure sticks out for a human. And what a human he is. Tall, broad, built like the proverbial brick shit house. A tattoo on his neck, peeking out over the collar of his shirt with crosshatching that she’d like to trace with her finger. Never has she been more curious or keen to go mountain climbing. She holds up two fingers to Corff, who rolls his eyes. She lowers her index finger and turns her hand around. Then she sidles up to the big guy, sits down, and leans on her elbow to emphasise her cleavage.

“So, you’re the one who fell from space.” A cheesey opener but he smiles.

“Yeah, that’s me.” He’s gorgeous. Hazel eyes full of mischief, straight white teeth. And that face. Those scars must have stories to tell. Stories from space.

“Isabela,” she says, holding out her hand. “Captain Isabela.”

He takes her hand and shakes, firm, warm, calloused. “James Vega. Lieutenant Vega of the Systems Alliance Navy. Doubt that means much to you though.” He loses that sparkle and for a moment, Isabela sees a vulnerable man. But he smiles again and says, “So, what are you captain of?”

“A ship. I’m a pirate.”

James raises an eyebrow at her. “We got pirates back home, too. They’re not like you, though.”

Isabela stands, hand on hip. Her breasts are right in his face. His eyes get caught on their way up to hers, but not for long. “Stunning, you mean? Carefree? Talented? Commanding?”

He laughs into his ale. “Yeah, something like that.”

“What are your pirates like then? And their ships? Are they still called ships if they’re in space?” She sits back down and brushes her elbow against his beautifully muscled arm.

“Ours are a pain in the ass. Hauling slaves and contraband. Galaxy’s a big place. They can hide anywhere. Because I’m Alliance I guess you’d say, we got rules. Can’t just nuke them. Have to give them warnings and all that shit. But anyway, yeah, we got space ships. They’re not shaped like ocean ships. No air up there, so they’re enclosed. And I think they’re made of metal you can’t get here.”

He’s veering into melancholy again. Varric had told her enough about how he fell through one of those rifts wearing armour the likes of which no one had ever seen, carrying a weapon that definitely wasn’t like anything in Thedas. She cares, oh yes, never let it be said that Isabela doesn’t care about the feelings and thoughts of her fellow man. But right now, all she wants is to see him smile again, flirt with him, and maybe…

“Would you like to see my ship?” she asks. She smoulders as she says it, touches his arm with her fingertips. His tan deepens.

“You propositioning me, Captain Isabela?”

“I sure am, Lieutenant Vega.”

He shrugs. “Weirder things have happened.” He says it almost to himself. He looks around, like he’s checking his exits. “Uh, Varric, the short guy, right? He said I probably shouldn’t head out there without an armed guard. Didn’t want me getting knifed, or something. I got a room here, if you want.”

Isabela laughs. Trust Varric to look out for the lost wanderers. She can’t argue with his warning though. A guy like James invites trouble. She debates flashing her knives, saying that she is her own armed guard and she’ll protect him. But he has a room in the Hanged Man. They could nip in, she could satisfy her curiosity and then be back in the bar without having missed a thing.

She stands again and runs her hand down the length of his arm, ending at his fingers. He curls his hand to squeeze hers. Strong, deliberate.

“Let’s save ourselves the walk, shall we?” she says, gently tugging him to his feet. He follows, but because she leads, she can’t see his expression. Not until they go up the steps and around the corner to the hallway does he catch up and walk beside her, still holding hands. They stop in front of one of the Hanged Man’s many guest rooms and he fumbles for his key. It doesn’t turn. He apologises, says he’s not used to actual keys and that where he’s from, if you’re allowed in, doors just open. Isabela wants to know what he means, but chit chat can wait. She nudges him aside, fiddles the key and shoves the door with her shoulder. It pops and swings open.

“You just have to know how it likes to be touched,” she says, smirking and handing the key back. He follows her through and closes the door. He manages the lock first time and seems mighty pleased with himself.

Here’s where these things get interesting. Will he be awkward and make polite talk? Or will he take his shirt off and get right to it? He looks her up and down, hungry, salacious in a way that their few minutes of talk at the bar hadn't allowed for. But he doesn’t make a move. Up to Isabela then. She pulls all her knives out of her boots and tunic (well, most of them) and yanks off her boots. She’s more careful with her necklace, placing it on the bedside table. She pulls her scarf free and her hair tumbles down in a way that she knows is dead sexy. She makes herself comfortable on his bed, propping herself on her side. All the best for showing off her assets.

He rubs the back of his neck. “So, I don’t know how you guys do this, but uh, how do I make sure I don’t, you know, knock you up?”

Aw, how thoughtful! Not many men bothered with the details. Maybe they breed them well up in space. “Don’t worry, sweet thing. Us women have a disgusting tea that kills just about anything that tries to grow inside us. But, knowing Corff, there’ll also be…” she rolls over and rummages through the bedside cabinet and comes up victorious. “These wonderful things! Roll it on and contain the mess.”

James lets out a long breath, his expression relaxing. “Condoms. Right. Probably made out of sheep guts, but okay.”

He pulls off his shirt as he walks to the bed. Isabela stares. Maker, what a man! Toned, tanned, and tattooed. Could he be any more perfect? He drops his trousers and Isabela’s mouth waters. Yes, oh yes. Oh Maker. Before she can follow suit, he pounces on the bed, pushing her onto her back. His lower body presses lightly against hers and his arms cage her, but she doesn’t feel trapped. He leans down to kiss her. She meets him halfway. His lips are soft, so soft, gentle and careful. She presses into him, hands skating up his arms to his shoulders and he kisses her deeply, passionately. Maker, she’s got a good feeling about this one. Strong and muscular and just a little bit sensitive. Open to suggestion, perhaps? She tests the idea, dragging her nails down his back to grab his arse. Maker, what an arse. He groans, low and throaty, and breaks the kiss. She presses her advantage, dragging him down and rolling him. She comes out on top and drapes herself over his ample chest, and kisses him some more. He rucks up her dress, hand on her arse, squeezing, then up her back, hands in her hair.

“Fuck me, you’re gorgeous,” he says. His pupils are blown, lips plump and red. She rocks her hips. Oh yes, and hard. So very hard.

“I’m not even naked yet.” She says it like a protest. Like he can’t possibly pass judgement on how gorgeous she is until he’s seen her in all her glory. So she pulls her tunic off and shakes her boobs.

“Jesus Christ,” he says.

She doesn’t know who Jesus Christ is but he must be someone good because James leans up and pops one nipple in his mouth and sucks. He tongues her and she gasps. A hand goes to her other breast and gropes. Not a boy’s grope either. A real, exploratory grope. Feeling her, testing her out, not too hard, but not tentative either. She arches her back, forcing his face closer. She rolls her hips. He groans, the sound muffled. He pulls away and looks up at her, lust drunk.

“I gotta taste you,” he says. For a moment she thinks he’d said ‘take’ and is disappointed. Just another guy who thinks foreplay it a dreary formality. But when he grips her hips and drags her forward she realises what he’s said. Well, she isn’t going to stop him, is she? Has to get her knickers off first though. He looks like a sad puppy when she climbs off him, but he grins wild when she climbs back on, planting her knees on either side of his head. He places his hands on her thighs, thumbs rubbing. He looks up at her, then down at her cunt. He licks his lips. Then he pulls her forward and licks her with a broad, long swipe.

“Maker’s tits!” She shakes and he takes over, licking and sucking. Teasing and probing. His hands join in, roving over her arse, her thighs, dipping between her legs. One finds its way to her breast, finger circling her nipple, tongue circling her clit. Fuck, the man is amazing. Better than amazing. She grinds against him, encouraging him with her own groans. She hadn’t anticipated coming so soon, but she can’t help it. She trembles, pleasure cascading through her, radiating out from her clit, which he doesn’t stop licking. She comes and comes, then comes some more before pulling herself away from him. She flops beside him and forgets about him for a moment, heaving in deep breaths and shaking a little. That was just as good as what she could do herself. He rolls onto his side and watches her. He reaches out, tentative now, and rests his hand on her hip.

“It’s been a while since I met a gentleman like you,” she says once her breathing calms down. He grins and her heart melts a little more. His hand finds her hair, fingers curling and massaging. Her skin tingles with post-coital delight. She pulls him closer so she can kiss him, just once, and tastes herself on his lips. “You’ve spoiled me.”

“Not over yet,” he replies.

He should have gone for the condom on the table, or his cock. His hand is headed that way, but instead of yanking himself, he teases her hair and strokes her thigh. She lets her legs fall open and sighs, delighted, when his fingers slide through her folds. Her clit is still too sensitive and he avoids it when she asks him to. Instead, he slips a finger inside and strokes, drawing out waves of pleasure. His mouth returns to her nipples, kissing as he strokes. She would stroke him back, it’s only polite, but she’s too far gone, too lost in the sensations and skill of this magnificent man. One to rival Zevran, in fact. She laughs and makes a note to send him a message as soon as she can.

“You good?” James asks.

“Better than good,” she replies. “Keep going. Maker, James, I’m going to come again.”

This one is deeper than the last, forcing pleasure through her body with shuddering jerks she can’t control. She latches onto him, fingers digging into whatever part of him she can grab. She kisses him, hard, and when he finally pulls his fingers free, she climbs on top. Again, he doesn’t rush to fuck her. Instead, gazing up at her with those soulful hazel eyes. Wicked hazel eyes, she amends, because he sucks his fingers clean and makes a ludicrous noise as he does so.

His cock is hard, precome smeared over his belly. About time she did something about that.

“Your turn,” she says. She lets her boobs graze his face as she leans over to grab the condom. She rolls it on, giving him a good hard stroke. He moans, throwing one arm above his head. The move stretches his torso, accentuating his muscles. She wants to kiss the tattoos on his pecs, but instead she reaches forward and drags her hands down, taking her fill of his beauty and tweaking his nipples.

After the performance he gave her, she doesn’t want to let him down. She slides onto his cock, revelling in the way he fills her. They both give a couple of experimental thrusts, finding their rhythm, then she lets him have it. She bounces on top, smacking down hard when he groans loud and pants _‘yes’_. He finds her breasts again and this time she leans forward, cupping his head in one hand, holding him there. Men like her breasts, like burying their faces between them. Women do too, but men especially. James is no exception. She scratches the back of his head as she rides him, but soon lets him go and shoves him back down. She thinks he’d be the type to like being pinned down, but that might have to be an experiment for another day; he whimpers just a little, and says he isn’t going to last much longer. She thrusts hard, gives him her all, and is rewarded with a delightful grunt and gasp before he goes all soft.

She gazes down at him, fingertips toying with his sweat slick chest. He gazes back up at her and makes no move to heave her off now that they’re done. They are having a moment, she realises. How sweet. Like all moments though, this one ends with reality intruding. She shivers, cold, and his cock slips out of her. She throws her leg over, climbs off, and goes for her dress.

“Hey, hey,” James whispers, fingers brushing her back. “You wanna stay?”

She looks at him over her shoulder. Maker, he’s adorable. All gooey in his afterglow. She debates her options. As crappy as the Hanged Man beds are, they’re warm at least. And James is his own kind of furnace. If she stays, they’ll go again, that much is for sure. If she leaves, she’ll head straight back to the bar. Wasn’t too late, either. Hawke or Varric might’ve started a game of Wicked Grace. She’ll stink of sex, but when is that ever a problem?

Yes, she’s satisfied her curiosity, taking the big guy from space for a ride. Space. Imagine that.

“Tell me about your space ships,” she says, crawling under the covers, “And I’ll stay.”

He grins, chucking the condom and joining her. “I’ll tell you about my ship. The SSV Normandy. Best ship I’ve ever served on…”


End file.
